


Getting Up, Letting Go

by TheChocoChick



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: ........, And Callum is hopeless for Rayla at the end, But also not, F/M, I swear, It was meant to be cute, Post War, Runaan POV, Runaan's PTSD takes on viren's voice, Time Jump, Viren is Viren, Yikes, because Lord Virus is a twat-waffle, free moon boi and let him be happy 2k19!, he ded, it ends with wholesome dad-ness, its a happy ending, moon boi has to deal with his fears, not Harrow tho, peace treaty, runaan has demons, theres also a hearty dose of moon magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 02:17:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19263958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheChocoChick/pseuds/TheChocoChick
Summary: "The war was over, of that there was no doubt, but its effects would scar the world for many years to come, if not forever."Sometimes, the hardest fights are the ones within ourselves.





	Getting Up, Letting Go

**Author's Note:**

> For @kingbrickisinariver, from the Tumblrs.
> 
> Enjoy our favorite Moon Boi with a side of feels.

                Unease.

                It seeped from the old stone walls as thickly as sap oozed from an ancient tree, coating the people and staining their minds.

                He was no exception.

                The war was over, of that there was no doubt, but its effects would scar the world for many years to come, if not forever. All the same, he stood before the mirror and adjusted his uniform for the umpteenth time, delaying the inevitable for as long as he could, until a knock sounded at the door.

                “Runaan,” his apprentice called softly from the other side. “We’re set to leave.”

                He cast one last glance at his reflection, smoothing away an invisible wrinkle and putting on a strong façade- Moonshadow elves did not show fear. “Then we shall go.”

                Rayla stood at the threshold, waiting for him in the glow of moonlight. How much she had grown since the last time they had passed through here together, all those years ago. Gone was the child afraid to act, and in her place shone a strong young woman whose determination and unbreakable spirit had helped heal a land torn by eons of fighting.

                A young woman who had saved the world, who had saved _him._

                They’d already bid their hosts farewell, the human couple and their servants retiring to bed long ago, knowing the two elves would be gone come morning. Ser Drenon and his wife had been one of the firsts to volunteer support of the new young king and insisted that any traveling Xadian diplomats be invited to take a break in their journeys at his home. It was a mark of the world they’d fought for, but he’d felt on edge the whole time they’d stayed to rest the horses.

                “If we ride steady, we should reach the castle a few hours after sunrise,” Rayla informed him, sweeping a leg up over the back of her white mare. “That’ll give us time to rest and prepare for tomorrow night.” She paused as he mounted, casting him a glance. “You’re sure you’ll be alright?”

                He denied an answer.

                The truth was, he didn’t know. For the rest of the world, King Harrow died five years ago, following Thunder to become the hallmarks of the war’s true beginning. For Runaan, it wasn’t so distant a memory. No, for him, the war had lasted only a few scant months, the rest of his time warped and sucked away into the cold metallic void inside a magic golden coin.

                There, riding under the light of a newly waning moon, he couldn’t help but remember the last time he’d traced this path. The determination he had felt, the single line of focus, it all echoed strangely in his mind. Only this time, he was out on a different kind of mission. This time, he wouldn’t be stripped of his companions. This time, he would not be forced to surrender his spirit. _This time he would not fail._

                He gripped the reins tighter, pushing down the image of the dark mage’s daughter standing over him, white streaking her hair as she undid her father’s curse. He pushed down the confusion and grief as he remembered that over four years of his life had been stolen from him, that all he had known was now changed, and that the world was presented truthfully, but _wrong_ all the same.

                He’d made do, at first. There was no time to stop and wallow when the world was tearing itself to bits. He’d been freed and promptly directed himself to the nearest struggle for power, letting his blades carry away his fears, anger, and grief in a tidal wave of red. And there had been so much red- it had painted over whole valleys and entire mountainsides, sucked into dry caked earth and swirled in the mighty rivers and seas. Runaan had seen nothing but crimson agony until the dark mage fell to his ruin under a blade on the field of battle, and Sol Regem was slain for his treason by the great dragon queen.

                Now, it was worse. Now, he didn’t know when the red would bleed through, dripping into his vision and twisting reality. Even now, it tinged the edges, four Moonshadow assassins dancing in the blurs.

                _You failed,_ they whispered cruelly. _We died because you failed. Now you go back there, as though this was not the reason we were lost? You strive for peace when we were denied rest, and forced to fight the livings war?_

                “Come back, Runaan,” Rayla said, urging her horse to keep pace, the hand she put on his arm chasing the whispered horrors away.

                “I’m right here,” he said, his voice running without thought, automatic and dead.

                “You leave, sometimes, I can see it in your eyes. You may be riding by me, but your mind is far away. We can stop and rest if you-“

                “I am fine,” he ground out, the answer bitter and automatic. “It’s my job to worry for you, not the other way around.”

                “… just don’t be pushing yourself too hard.”

                The ride was silent after that, and thankfully the haze didn’t return. But fear did.

                When tall twin spires rose high in the early morning sky, and a series of harmonic horns sounded their arrival at the Katolis keep, fear was all Runaan could feel.

***

                The young king Ezran was just as Rayla had described him to be. Open, kind, and easy going. Runaan had never had the chance to really get to know him in the thick of the action, as he had been freed only to be transported immediately to Xadia. The young man ruled well, still at only the tender age of fifteen, swamped by the ornate throne upon his dais, but a sense of wisdom was present in the room as they were formally welcomed to his kingdom and recognized as the dragon queen’s ambassadors and honored guests of Katolis.

                His simple and honest air did little to calm the pounding of Runaan’s heart as it hammered away in his chest. His apprentice smiled when he did not respond, stepping forward in his place and reciting their own scripted greeting as though she’d been tasked with it from the beginning.

                He watched blankly as Callum, one of the few humans he recognized, stepped forward and shook hands with Rayla before quickly throwing an arm around her in a quick hug. He’d grown since the last time Runaan had seen him, several inches taller now, and not quite so lanky. Handsome, by human standards, and looking regal in the official garb of Katolis’s High Arcane Advisor, thankfully now adapted away from the uniform Runaan’s captor had worn.

                Ezran soon joined the pair, gesturing for them to follow as he passed by, leading them back out into the courtyard and across to the tower that would forever be seared into his mind.

                Flickers of red danced before him in the shapes of human soldiers falling and slipping down the stairwell, limp in the light of a full moon. He could feel his fingers twitching for his bow blade, ready for the fight awaiting at the top, and-

                -and… no. King Harrow was dead. He’d _been_ dead for five years. His hand slid to the token looped around his belt- a focusing gift from Tinker before he’d left Xadia a second time. _Remember when you are, Runaan,_ he thought to himself with a deep breath.

                “This is the tower where all the royal families and visiting dignitaries stay,” he dimly heard Callum saying. “So if you need anything, Ez and I are just down the hall.”

                The head of the stairwell came into view, the door to the king’s chamber standing resolute across the way. His eyes drifted just enough to catch the grooves that remained cut into the wall from his arrows, the roar of fighting dancing hollowly in his ears.

                “Runaan?”

                Rayla’s hand was on his arm, her gaze concerned as it swept over him again. When had he stopped moving with the group? The human nobility and a set of guards stood a respectable distance away, but it felt like they were breathing down his neck.

                “Forgive me,” he said stiffly, shaking his head slightly to rid himself of the noise. “Please, lead on.”

                “Oh, uh, right,” Callum answered, animating swiftly and gesturing towards a door on the left. “This one’s been made up for Rayla, and this one is yours, Ser Runaan.” The king’s advisor motioned to a proud oak door on the right, kicking his guest’s heartbeat into overdrive. The entrance was only a dozen feet down the hall… right next to the king’s suite.

“You’re too kind,” the elf answered politely, suddenly desperate for space.

                “It’s a tradition for any personal guests to stay closer to the hosts,” Ezran said jovially, oblivious to the discomfort. “Since I know Rayla really well, and you worked with her and Callum during the end of the war, you should stay here, to represent that we’re friends now!”

                _Friends?_ Runaan thought. _I stood behind those massive doors and murdered your father, and you’d call me a friend?_

                “You two must be pretty tired,” Callum started, interrupting his train of thought. “We’ll let you get some rest, but you guys should have lunch with us later before all the other Xadian representatives show up.”

                “Of course!” Rayla smiled bright, and Runaan felt his heart twist in a different way as she clasped the human’s hands in her own. “Er, of course, if you’re alright with that?” She turned her gaze to her mentor.

                How could he say no when she so plainly wanted him to say yes?                                   

                “We’d be honored to join you,” he said with a tilt of his horns, letting his charge’s bright grin wash away some of the tension he felt. “Just let us know when and where.”

                “Let’s say half past noon,” Ezran piped up. “My rooms.”

                “We’ll be there,” Rayla grinned, patting him on the shoulder as they left before going into her borrowed accommodations, Runaan following suite before it hit him.

                Ezran’s room. _King_ Ezran’s room.

                He’d just agreed to go back to where his nightmare had begun all that time ago.

***

                Despite the fatigue he felt pulling at him as he lay on the bed for a few hours, he couldn’t rest. There was still a fair bit of time left before he was to meet with the others next door, and restless energy propelled him out into the keep before too long.

                His mild curiosity had him peeking through some of the tomes in the library, surprised to find quite a few Xadian texts along the shelves and small children stories from his youth laid out on the tables. Had Ezran and Callum read these as little ones? Did the disgraced Lord Viren’s progeny know the story of _Havania on the Shore_ , or _Grandmother Willowlily_?

                He followed the paths around the buildings, accepting a jelly tart from an almost overly kind and jovial baker cooling his confections on a rack. He sat for a while under a tree near what he assumed was a training ground to meditate. He even stood on a raised path and watched a group of human children play in the gardens below, giving a tilt of his horns and a wave when they noticed him.

                But as time wore on, something more earnest began tugging his feet up a set of stairs, and out onto a high walkway. That pull which brought him up here urged him to continue, to cross to the tower in front of him and pull back the clever disguise covering the entrance to a hidden set of pathways.

                _Don’t be afraid. Moonshadow elves do not know fear._

                The door to the old study swung open silently under his fingertips, scrolls littering the desk and dark purple drapes hangings in front of the windows. It made his skin crawl, knowing that these stones were steeped in the curling remains of dark magic…

                His arms burned where metallic snakes had once slithered over them, chaining him down to be carted away deep into the earth, where he would remain until he was released. Callum had informed him once that the office now belonged to its former resident’s daughter, who devoted her knowledge of dark magic to undoing her father’s damage.

                She had been the one to release him from his prison, and she’d brought him up here to bandage his injuries before sending him off with Rayla… it was all too easy to retrace the steps behind the painting. Unlike before, these pathways were now common knowledge, and he passed a few guards along the way. They cast him a curious glance but didn’t stop him, and he was glad. If he should turn back now, he had no doubt the courage would leave him and he would not return on his own.

                The stone steps remained sunk into the earth, darkness looming up from their depths and striking a cold stone of dread into his heart. A torch had been affixed to the wall that once housed the unlocking mechanism, now broken, but he couldn’t bring himself to grab it and descend.

                _“You’re afraid,”_ hissed the voice in the back of his head. _“You should be. You had every advantage to escape, and you_ let _yourself be captured. You deserved to suffer.”_

 _I’m not afraid,_ he thought back sharply. _Moonshadows do not know fear._

 _“Just like how you weren’t afraid of death?”_ the voice laughed. _“You shrieked for me. Even now, you lack the will to return there. You are weak.”_

                Red was bubbling up from the curling stairwell, rippling in the shadows as he dimly heard the echoes of his own screams bounced silently off the cavernous stone walls. The cries died out, drowning in the red as the keep’s bells tolled noon.

                Noon… Rayla would expect him to meet with her early before going to have lunch with her human friends, which meant he had no time to stop and slink deeper into the depths of the castle. His current duties were more important than chasing ghosts.

                _“Weak,”_ he heard the voice laugh as he turned away, heading back towards the tower. _“Disgustingly weak.”_

***

                It was… a room. The bed had been swapped out for a new one and bright golden-brown drapes hung from the windows instead of their crimson ancestors. A brilliantly colored rug stretched out in the receiving area where Callum was laying out loaves of bread with cheese and butter, and a large pitcher of what looked to be like moonberry juice next to Xandian fruit. A black and green bird stood on a stand, Ezran telling him with a sad smile that her name was Periwinkle, and his father had had one just like her named Pip.

                All in all, the King’s royal set of rooms was just that- a set of rooms.

                So why couldn’t he settle down?

                He managed to lean against one of the chairs with relative calm, the _tap tap_ of his fingers against his cup the only giveaway that he wasn’t fully relaxed. Granted, being relaxed wasn’t something that necessarily came easy to an assassin, but this was another story altogether. Because yes, he was here, but he wasn’t _now._

He could practically feel the full moon washing over him, even as the midday sun beat down almost agonizing summer heat. He could hear Barilla shouting in the hall as a guard grabbed her by the chains and ran her through, Vestin being slammed back down the stairwell by a guard who got a lucky shot…

                And with each _tap tap tap_ of his fingers, another detail of times gone by washed over him, another wound taken… another comrade lost in the pursuit of their goal… another sacrifice for their queen.

                And the voice… _his_ voice… laughing- mocking him.

                Lord Viren continued to manage to torment him- even in death.

                When the chaos of his mind grew to be too much, he straightened- he was far too quick to seem natural and far too overwhelmed to care. The hollow voices of the others asking where he was going were lost in the mess of where _that_ bled into _this_ and when _here_ was _there_ but _not_ all at once.

                _Regina draconis,_ his mind chanted as he stalked out onto the balcony. _Regina draconis… Regina draconis… ReginadraconisReginadraconis…_ Over and over until the words convoluted in on themselves, joining the fray of madness. He all but threw himself against the stone ledge at the end, bending down with a gasp and sinking to his knees.

                Tinker’s pendant thudded against his leg, the intricately carved design catching the light on the moon opal’s face.

                _Remember when you are, Runaan._

                He was breathing too fast, and black was starting to stain over the red, little pinpricks of darkness burning into him. Darkness… just like the magic that tore out his soul. He could feel it, the black stain of the High Mage’s magic churning under his skin and embedding itself inside him all over again.

                And when a hand gently touched his shoulder…

                … he nearly threw her off the roof.

                “It's over, Runaan,” the assailant said softly as he pressed her against the stones, the upper half of her body dangling free over the ledge. “The fight is over.”

                _Remember_ when _you are, Runaan._

With a crack like lighting, the red was gone- lost to the sharp clarity of what he was doing. Pulling back and letting go, he deposited Rayla upright on the ground, slinking back and taking a shuddering breath.

                “I’m sorry,” he choked out. “Rayla...”

                “Sometimes,” his apprentice said, placing a hand on his arm again. “The hardest battles are the ones that have ended, but live on in our minds. Not a single soul came out of the war without some pain of some sort. I’m not angry at you, Runaan, I just want to help.”

                Somewhere amid the shame of his actions, pride swelled, mingling with sadness. When had his little girl become so wise, and why had he had to miss it?

                “You always were the strongest of us, but helping with this… you just can’t bring the balance I’m needing to find,” he huffed, a thought dawning on him as he straightened and looked back to the doors leading inside. “But maybe this will.”

                Callum and Ezran were standing close together as Runaan reentered, Rayla following behind with a quizzical expression, all three of their faces taking on a look of shock as he dropped to his knees before them. His hands were going numb with how tightly they were clenched, and it took a few moments of deep breathing before he could find his voice.

                “I stood here,” Runaan started. “Knowing my mission had changed, but I did not change with it. I stood here, and while I did not take life lightly, I took it unjustly. I cannot return what I have taken from you, nor can I offer anything to fill the void.”

                The air felt like lead as he struggled to keep enough air to continue, the façades of serenity the two young humans wore slowly cracking to show their sadness.

                “I cannot fill the void,” he repeated. “But neither will I ask your forgiveness, for I am unworthy of it.” He somehow found the will to lean forward and place his hands on the ground, humbling himself as far as he could. “King Ezran, Prince Callum… I offer myself up to your mercy, to charge me as you please for the crimes I have committed against you, and against your people.”

                And suddenly his heart, which had been hammering away faster than the flit of a hummingbird’s wings, stood stalk still, and each moment felt like an eternity…

                Until two pairs of arms wound around his shoulders, startling Runaan as the two humans embraced him fiercely.

                “The war is _over_ ,” Ezran said resolutely, pulling back slightly. “We all had to do hard things, sometimes bad things, to protect the people we love. And yes, it hurts that our dad is gone, but you’ve suffered enough for what happened. I told you, we are _friends_ now.”

                “And more than that,” Callum added, tears gathering in his eyes. “You’ve paid us back a hundred times over. How many times in those last few months of the war did you cover me during a fight? How many times did you help us patch up soldiers and give rites to the dead? What about when you rode ahead and used your skills to _save_ Ez and Soren? What you did wasn’t fair, but _war_ isn’t fair, and we forgave you a long time ago.”

                He bowed his head, fighting the stinging sensation behind his eyes and losing, the droplets sliding out from under his lashes and dripping to the floor as he shook silently. Rayla came to lay her head on his shoulder like she had when she was little, grounding him in _here_ and _now_ , and for the first time, it didn’t hurt so much to remember.

                _Forgiveness… Could it be true?_

“If we are friends,” Runaan found himself saying brokenly. “Then I would request your aid with another matter.”

***

 _“Too afraid to come on your own?”_ Viren sneered, his voice ricocheting in Runaan’s mind. _“How pathetic that you only find courage when accompanied by those who are hardly more than_ children. _”_

                _There is power in numbers,_ Runaan thought back, gripping Rayla’s hand tightly in his own as they followed Callum and Ezran down the shadowy steps. _And this is the hour that I am rid of you once and for all._

“Are you sure you want us to wait out here?” Callum asked as he adjusted the pack of items he’d spent the afternoon gathering with Claudia.

                “This part… I must do alone,” Runaan answered solemnly, plucking up a second, smaller torch from a hook in the corner and lighting it with Callum’s.

                “If I sense anything wrong, I’m coming in,” Rayla forewarned, a concerned frown on her lips.

                “I pray you don’t need to.”

                The stale air was nearly suffocating as he slowly made his way down the damp hallway, each step bringing more of a desire to turn tail and run far away. He kept reminding himself that he didn’t need to be afraid, these were merely stones, and they had no hold over him anymore.

                _“Do you remember that table over there?”_ the dark mage whispered sinfully in his mind as he passed an alcove. _“Where I took your horn and made you watch as I shaved it, as I ground it down into almost nothing? What do you think I used that powder for, hm? You know you would have made such magnificent dark magic, elf.”_

“You are dead,” Runaan whispered under his breath, his palm resting against the rough pale wood of the door, hesitating.

                _“Dead or not, I’m still here. I’m here in the after-effects of the war, I’m here in the memories of the people… I’m here in_ you.” He pushed open the door, taking in the old and rusty serpentine shackles hanging on the wall, the chill of the air. “ _No matter where you go or what you do, I will_ always _be with you, a stain on your spirit, because your soul is my treasure. You’ll always come back to me, it will be like you have no choice. I own you.”_

“I belong to no one but myself.”

                _“But you’re here, elf, just like I said. Look, my payment for you is even where you left it.”_

Nausea arched through Runaan’s system at the glint of gold shining from under the cell’s layer of grime. His breath came short, and fear trembled in his fingertips as he stretched his gloved hand out and picked up the coin, his reflection catching in its face as the dirt instantly fell away.

                _“You know what this is, don’t you?”_ Viren crooned. “ _A little bit of you… a little bit of me. Bonded. Together… forever. How I loved to hear you scream.”_

“You were a monster…”

                _“And now I’m_ your _monster, elf, almost like destiny.”_

“Callum never fails to mention how destiny is a book we write ourselves.” He clutched the coin tightly in his fist. “Tonight, we write a new chapter, _mage._ ”

***

                He meditated in Ezran’s chamber as Rayla and Callum prepared out on the balcony, Periwinkle chirping a tune every few minutes, almost like a sign of encouragement. He breathed deeply, centering as firmly as he could- the monster in his mind would not interrupt him here, not for this, and not ever again when the task was done. After what felt like an eternity, Rayla returned, a few new temporary markings painted on her face.

                “Its time,” she said softly, helping him to his feet. He pulled her closer once he was up, taking a breath before stepping back.

                “I’m proud of you, Rayla,” he said softly.

                She offered him a small smile, and he let go, moving to the mirror on the wall and painting blue druid lines across his forehead. Another stretched from the bow of his lips to his collar bones, and a moon insignia flowed from the brush to his cheek. His apprentice was right- it was time.

                Without another word, he brushed by Rayla, taking slow and deliberate steps up to the burning brazier sitting in the center of the large balcony, the freshly waning moon still bright overhead.

                The moonlight sang to him, somewhere deep in his blood, and he focused on that, pulled on it until he could feel his runes slowly burn to life with a shining blue light. He could sense the arcanum shudder as Rayla joined him, her energy mingling with his own and the very moon itself.

                “The moon’s harvest has waxed full, and the power reaped,” Rayla began across from him.

                “And now the moon wanes,” Runaan continued, opening his eyes to meet her shining form. “And the time for banishment is nigh.”

                “As the moon rises,” they chanted together. “So the moon sets.”

                They continued, Callum quick to hand them what the rite called for to honor the primal source until at last they both held a handful of shimmering white powder- crushed moonstone. Runaan could feel the energy spike as the magic twined together. The yellow flames of the fire turned a vibrant blue and shot high before receding, the arcanum sealing them together as hallowed Moonfire.

                “Tonight,” Runaan said, picking up the last piece of the spell. “Duality comes full circle. The living shall be living, and the dead shall be dead.”

                “So let it be decided,” Rayla murmured.

                “So let it be done,” he finished, dropping the cursed coin into the fire, watching as it burned away like a shadow before the flame.

                And for the first time since Runaan ever came to Katolis, he felt like he could finally breathe.

***

                The next night found them in the main courtyard, which had been decorated with flowers of all shapes and scents and magic crystals emitted beautiful light across the bricks. At the request of their hosts, they’d accepted a new set of custom wardrobe, Runaan looking proud in a modified version of his regular garb, now high collared with coattails and a line of decorative buttons down the chest. Rayla’s dress had been a bit long, but as it was a gift from Callum, she’d elected to wear it, but said she “wouldn’t enjoy a lick of it, not all night”.

                _That_ was the Rayla he remembered.

                As they waited, he let himself take stock of his surroundings, noting all the little things that danced amid the crowd. The air of suffocation had lifted from him, at last, the night before as he burned his former prison. There was still healing to be done, of that there was no doubt, but he finally felt like he could be here and be at peace. His fight with Katolis was finished, at last.

                He stood straight, a bemused smile dancing on his lips as Rayla complained about her gown for at least the tenth time in as many minutes. Other Xadian representatives stood mingling with human dignitaries in the courtyard, the young queen of Durin throwing King Ezran a smile from across the way as they waited for the final members of the peace accords to arrive.

                “Why do humans have to wear ridiculous clothes anyway?” Rayla mumbled at his side. “There’s nothing wrong with a sturdy set of trousers.”

                “You’ll sneak through enemy lines, disobey direct orders, start a resistance and engage in full-scale warfare for peace, but wearing a dress for the celebration is crossing a line?”

                “Is something wrong with your dress Ralya?” Ezran asked as he and Callum bid the Del-Bar nobles to enjoy themselves.

                “I’m just not sure I’m the dress type,” she said with a grin.

                “Well you look fantastic,” Callum complemented, quickly flushing red.

                _He’s hopeless,_ Runaan thought to himself. Ever since the coin had burned, he’d been picking up on more and more between the two of them, and surprisingly enough, he wasn’t immediately against it.

                Before they could say anything else, the trumpets sounded, and a lithe pair of shadows crossed over the clouds. The humans chittered amongst themselves as the elves bowed their heads, honoring Azymondias as he landed in a whirl of gentle wind, his mother lighting behind him.

                The smaller of the duo chittered happily, crossing the flagstones to nudge his head against Katolis’s king, who now stood in line with the dragon prince’s shoulder.

                “You’re looking great Zym!”

                “Regis Filius, Regina,” Runaan greeted, he and Rayla falling into Xadian salute.

                A deep rumble echoed off the rocks, pleasing in its pitch and timbre, a greeting of their own.

                “Regina Draconis,” Ezran said, a pleased hum coming from the dragon queen as he used her proper honorific. “It’s my honor to welcome you here. Shall we begin?”

                The human nobles and Xadian representatives followed behind as the two rulers turned and made their way to a newly crafted pair of towers just outside the keep’s walls. Six large stones jutted out along the lip of the roofs, each engraved with the symbol of one of the groups, their respective flags billowing lightly below them in the wind.

                They watched as the royals stepped forward, signing their oaths for peace and delivering their seals of power until it came time for the dragons. The Xadian queen and prince each took a copy of the oaths in their maws, beating their wings until they lifted into the air. They circled, once, twice, before waves of fire and lightning rained down, striking the towers. The magic trembled in the air, lighting the large iron vats on the roof and filling them with eternal dragon fire.

                “As long as these flames burn,” Ezran said, turning to face his audience. “We will have peace between our kingdoms, and our people!”

                There was cheering, because of course there was. The worst was finally over, and for the first time in thousands of years, Xadia was whole. The group migrated back towards the keep, excitement and happiness dancing as surely as the flames behind them.

                They were ushered into a large ballroom pavilion, with a gap large enough for the two dragons to rest their heads and necks inside as the smaller creatures conversed. At one point, fiddler started playing and the center emptied into a dancefloor. Several songs played, and he watched contented as Ezran danced with Duren’s queen and Callum tripped over his feet during a human waltz with Claudia.

                The tone suddenly shifted though, the sounds of a flute and harp cutting over the din of celebration, and Runaan found he couldn’t say no when Rayla grabbed him by the arm and insisted they dance to the Moonshadow song. Halfway through, there was a tap on his shoulder, and he turned to see Callum blushing so red he looks as though he was about to burst.

                “I know I’m not as graceful a dance partner,” he stammered out. “But would you permit me to cut in?”

                Runaan caught the flush creeping over Rayla’s cheeks as well, and could feel her shift slightly by his side. “Do you know the steps?” Maybe it was unfair to tease, but he was surprised when the answer was a resounding yes, because Rayla had already taught him.

                With a nod and a bow, he passed his apprentice over to the Arcane Advisor, retreating back to the side to watch as Callum led her through the turns, a strange panging in his heart as he remembered when he had taught her the dance so many years ago. She’d had to stand on his feet to keep together with him, much to her nine-year-old indignance.

                _She’s all grown up,_ he thought as she tilted her head back and laughed, stepping closer to the prince and smiling up at him. The song ended a few minutes later, a human jig taking its place and he couldn’t stifle a smile as the pair danced together yet again, this time with the clapping and high steps humans seemed to favor. _He’s learned of our culture, and she’s learned of his._

                He’d give Callum a hard time, he decided. Well, at least at the beginning, but once the young man proved he could take having a Moonshadow assassin hovering over him, he’d lighten up. He was a good kid, after all, and it was clear he adored Runaan’s protégé.

                “How are you?” someone asked him, making polite conversation as he tracked Rayla and her joyful expressions around the ballroom, her dress twirling wide.

                “I’m perfectly content,” he answered, not taking his gaze away from the dance.

                And for the first time in nearly five years, he actually meant it.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it! Comments and Kudos are love <3
> 
> If you're feeling particularly generous, you can help a gal out and buy me a coffee at ko-fi.com/chocochick !


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